The Brook I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley;

By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slide between the rocks; I travel the old heroic town, And greet the shouting flocks.

I babble on the pebbles gay, I chatter, chatter, as I flow; To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.

I climb to join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glide, I mingle with the river; I love to see the salty tide Turn again to the shiver,

I steal by beds and sandy shores, And though I’m quick and light, I linger with the moans of oars That creak throughout the night.

I make the stony beach my bed, Upon its gray-grim summit, And play pretend when half in dread That the earth will close upon it.

For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.

• Alfred Lord Tennyson